


Trouble Loves Me

by BipolarMolar



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bestiality, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Knotting, M/M, Male Slash, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non Consensual, Non-Graphic Violence, Rough Sex, Roughness, Singing, Slash, Trapped, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Werewolf Sex, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BipolarMolar/pseuds/BipolarMolar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of Nina and George getting locked up together during the full moon, I wrote a slashy, Mitchell/George version. Let’s pretend Nina doesn’t exist for the sake of writing. <br/>Herrick traps George and Mitchell in a room together, in the knowledge that the full moon will rise, turning George into his lupine alter ego and spelling out Mitchell’s destruction. Mitchell is expecting to be torn into shreds, instead…something else happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble Loves Me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the rights to Being Human, I make no money from this. please comment, kudos, bookmark if you like it :)

 

The two men beat at the door, pounding at the metal with their fists but the combined muscle, bone and sinew may as well have been silk for all the effect it had on the surface. The black-haired man seemed to tense for a moment, and then an inky blackness flared up in his eyes, dyeing the irises and the white, into a deep, wet sable. The two canine teeth at each corner of his upper jaw elegantly elongated, until they were two fangs gleaming in the moonlight. The other man calmly watched as the vampire gnawed at the door, his sharp fangs doing nothing to scratch or dent the cool, firm metal.

“Mitchell, that’s not going to work, Herrick knows how strong you are. And I bet that window is bullet-proof.” The werewolf, George, pointed with a shaking hand to the small window set high up in the opposite wall, barely large enough to put a fist through, only serving as a final mockery as the silvery glow of the moon seeped into the little room.

 

The fangs retracted and the blackness dilated into two pupils outlined in brown. “I, I know, George. I know that.” He ran a hand through his dark curls, making them stand on end. “But we’ve had some good times, haven’t we?”

“Yeah,” George replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He sank down onto the concrete floor, bringing his knees to his chest. “Why is he doing this, Mitchell?”

“A final trick, a plan. You’re going to change, become the wolf and I-” Mitchell paused for a moment, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth like he wanted to silence his words. “I’m- you’re going to-”

“Destroy you,” George leapt to his feet, defiantly shaking his head. “No, no, no- I won’t do it!”

“You will,” Mitchell told him in a gentle whisper, his lilting voice calm. “You won’t be able to stop it.”

“No! I can’t, M-Mitch-” Tears were falling freely from his eyes, his chest heaving with emotion, as his legs buckled, falling to his knees. Mitchell walked over, offering his hand to George, who took it, allowing him to be pulled to his feet. The younger man clutched at the vampire’s shoulders, cool leather under his fingers, reassuring in its familiarity.

George could barely see through his tears. “Mitchell, we can’t let this happen. I can’t…kill you.”

“It’s alright,” Mitchell said, his lilting brogue thicker than usual. He brought his hands up to cover George’s. “I’ve lived long enough. And I’ve existed…” Here, he laughed. “Far longer. Time to rest, I think.”

The smile he gave George was genuine, almost cocky, but there was a fear in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. And if _Mitchell_ was scared…

George went to say something, a placating phrase or perhaps a thank you for all the years of friendship, but at that moment, a spark of fire seemed to explode at the middle of his spine, making him stagger, mouth falling open in a silent scream. “It’s starting,” he panted, taking a hasty step back.

 

 

Mitchell didn’t speak, only giving him one tight nod to show he understood, turning to sit in the corner furthest from the door. George watched the raven-haired man take off his trench coat, throwing the jacket onto the ground to sit on. He settled himself down, brushing imaginary lint off his jeans.

George retreated until he was at the opposite corner. He shucked out of his coat, unfastening his Star of David to carefully stow it away in his zip-up inside pocket of his denim jacket. The he unbuckled his belt, laying it onto the floor. His shoes and socks followed (another stabbing pain overtaking him, making him wince) and his shirt and jeans joined the rest, all neatly folded. Mitchell sniggered in the corner, making George glare at him indignantly.

“ _What_ ,” he said hotly. “Is so bloody _funny_?”

Mitchell extracted a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, a smile playing on his lips.  “I just find it funny- the man who’s about to become a slavering beast, carefully folding his clothes.”  He lit the fag, pushing it past his lips.

George watched him take a long drag, a charcoal spiral of smoke darting from his lips, twisting and dissolving in the stale air. “Those things will kill you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell said softly. “If _you_ don’t get there first.”

“Yeah.” George whispered. He dropped to his knees as a fresh pain burnt a path through his veins. It was getting _worse_.

“Argh!” He dimly saw a dark flurry of movement from his peripheral vision, but he held up a hand to stop him. ”Stay back; there’s nothing you can do.”

“What’s the alternative?” Mitchell snapped. “Stay in the corner, watching my friend writhe in agony, unable to… _help_ …” His voice broke on the last word.

George huffed out a breath, feeling his bones click in his back. “Just do something. Take your mind off it.”

Mitchell went back to his corner.

 

The moon was glowing brighter and George’s bones were creaking, muscles stretching, sometimes seizing up as his very DNA re-wrote itself. In between his screams and the click and stretch of ligaments, all that could be heard was the occasional inhale, exhale of Mitchell’s smoking, and the soft song he was singing under his breath. He was almost saying the words, in a murmur.

“ _Trouble loves me; trouble needs me….two things more than you do_ -”

“W-what is that?” George stuttered with a slightly unstable laugh, a scream working its way up his throat. His nails were growing at an alarming rate, not the most painful part of the process, but the way they developed into claws at the end of his bleeding fingers always hurt.

“Morrissey.” Mitchell muttered past his cigarette.

 

George gasped at the feeling of a hundred nails being forced into his skin. It was actually fur, pushing up through tissue to coat his flesh. His skin ached as his muscles grew and strengthened, bones popping as they grew, making him far taller than his normal height. He was beyond speech now, his gums bleeding and his fangs yellow and wet in his mouth.

 

It became a game, Mitchell continued to rattle out the song, no matter what noises he heard, or flashes of animal out of the corner of his eye. “ _Just when it seems like everything’s evened out and when the balance seems serene…”_ His tuneless singing would be interrupted by a drag on his cig.

“Argh!” George had got his voice back. Mitchell winced at his friend’s cry but continued on, regardless, deliberately ignoring the man, his eyes shut tight. “ _Trouble loves me_ …”

“Arghh...uh...”

“Walks beside me,” He was singing louder now, as the air was alive with the clack of claws scratching on concrete, the pained groaning of his flatmate deepening-

“ _To chide me, not to guide me_ -”

The groan was becoming a steady growl, like a hum in alto, or the engine of a motorbike. It was continuous and subtly menacing.

“ _It’s still much more than you’ll do_ ….” He was almost shouting now, his eyes still closed against the truth, hearing a heavy thud as the creature lumbered over.

“ _So, console me, otherwise hold me_ -” Mitchell gritted his teeth, shifting into a protective crouch, his arms shielding his head. “ _Just when it seems like everything_ ….” He was forgetting the words now, feeling a cold, wet snout shunting up against his arm. He carried on singing, any lyric of it he could remember, the beast’s breath hot on his dead flesh.

“ _See the fool I’ll be, still running round, ON THE FLESH RAMPAGE_ -”

The next moment, hot jaws were a cage around his forearm, razor-sharp teeth holding his skin still. He felt the tug of the beast, allowing himself to be led, in a crawl, to the centre of the room. This was it. The end.

“Trouble loves me, seeks and f-finds me-” The cigarette was dying back in his corner of the room as the creature speared a handful of the vampire’s shirt on its fangs, the material getting tangled up in its jaws. “ _To charlatanize me_ \- George, please, tell me you’re there-”

A growl rumbled up from deep in the beast’s chest, to accompany the sound of material ripping as Mitchell’s shirt was torn off him. “ _Which is only, as it should be_ -” He couldn’t remember any of the lyrics now, so stopped, facing his destruction with the beats’ breath fanning across his back. Ignoring his vow from earlier, he risked a look over his shoulder. George wasn’t totally unrecognisable, the figure did at least vaguely resemble a human body, but the greyish-black fur coating new, stiff muscles, and the yellow claws and fangs held no trace of his friend. “George,” he whispered. “It’s John Mitchell. Your friend.”

The wolf barked, crouching down and trapping his leg between its teeth. Mitchell braced himself for the snap. He was fairly sure that he wouldn’t recover from whatever wound the werewolf would inflict on him; the very nature of their evolutions made them each other’s worst enemies. His jeans were chewed and ripped away by the wolf’s eager jaws, and then, for some reason, his boxer shorts. In the struggle, his shoes and one sock had been lost, so he was aware of how vulnerable he was in his state of undress. It didn’t even occur to him to try and kill George, to stop his own demise. George, although he never seemed to realise this, still could go on to have a rich, full life. Once a month wasn’t a long time to stop being human. Whereas Mitchell was dead flesh a man with the blood of so many on his hands, George still had some of the innocence of humanity and Mitchell couldn’t let anybody take that away.

He felt George’s warm breath again, and then a slight scraping of claws clacking on concrete as his friend got his bearings. Then there was thick fur, over hard muscle, pressing onto his back and Mitchell realised the truth. The werewolf didn’t plan to destroy him, at least, not at first. If the hardness poking into his back was what he thought it was, the wolf was…aroused. _Which is better, rape or utter destruction?_ Mitchell thought to himself sarcastically. The fur was rubbing against him as George dry-humped against him, but the thick length prodding at his spine was getting dangerously close to his rear, so Mitchell hurriedly stuck his own fingers into his mouth. He sucked on the digits furiously, knowing that the wolf was bound to attempt to mount him, and he had to stretch this orifice to stop the wolf from tearing him open. He stuck both fingers in haphazardly, wincing, working them apart as hast as he dared. The burn inside him intensified as he added another finger. He was going faster than advisable, but he knew he had to widen his passage for the penis now bumping against the base of his backbone. He forced the fingers apart, gasping in pain but knowing that at least George wasn’t taking him dry, with no preparation. He risked putting a hand behind him to coat his fingers in the pre-come of the werewolf, feeling the thick fluid sliding down his hand. It was oozing form George’s cock profusely, and seemed to be thicker than the normal semen of a human. It doubled up as lubricant well, Mitchell noted, coating his entrance with it. By now, George was rubbing his crotch against Mitchell’s arse, so Mitchell quickly withdrew his fingers, on all fours in a position of offering.

There was one second that he had to himself, free from intrusion, but then the wolf was pressing against him, rutting openly and the fur was making him overheat, it was so, so, so-

“George, don’t…”

There was pressure at his rear, so he spread his legs wider, his flaccid dick almost touching the floor as he made himself as open as possible. The wet snout was nuzzling his shoulders, his neck and then-

“Argh!” Mitchell’s eyes flickered black and his fangs momentarily flared as the vampire’s instincts sensed the panic in his system. The sensation of something huge, stretching and filling him up overwhelmed him. He literally didn’t move for fear of aggravating his tender flesh more.

The werewolf barked in approval, nudging him with its cold snout. Mitchell braced himself, wondering if the wolf’s pause was hesitation. Or a trick. He stole a breath, before deciding to take the creature at his word. It _was_ hesitating, almost like it wanted permission. And…if he acted like he wanted it- perhaps he’d be able to escape this ordeal without being slashed to ribbons.

His nails scrabbling at concrete, he pushed back, crying out in pain but not defying the canine. With that encouragement, the werewolf continued to thrust, his claws leaving pale curvedon the ground.

He was panting now, each drive of the heavy beast brining him closer to the floor, the hard concrete swimming in his line of sight. If he’d been human, he most likely would have suffocated or overheated- as it was, the wolf’s weight was bearing down on him and the thick fur was like an electric blanket, pressing on him, hugging his body.

He couldn’t be sure when the wolf would come; he just hoped it would be quick. But then it whined, shunting its nose unhappily against his skin, as it thrust into him again. His body had adapted to the intrusion by now- the burn had faded, replaced with an unending unpleasantness.

The werewolf was unhappy.

“W-what do you want?” he grated out, his knees buckling under the wolf-[‘s weight. George whined again, and then a rough, leathery tongue rasped a stripe down his shoulder blade. Mitchell had always been able to guess George’s moods, it was a reason they gelled together so well. So now, even though the being violating him was more beast than man, he felt a flash of inspiration. Poor George, romantic George. He was surely sad that his _mate_ wasn’t enjoying this.

Mitchell surrendered to gravity, only a second where the wolf’s weight pushed on him, knocking out his breath before the creature supported its weight with its own paws.  Doggie style. How apt.

Mitchell was now resting on his knees, the new position more forgiving, so he spat on his palm, using the saliva to smooth a trial of wetness down his cock, stroking it with quick and single-minded determination. His mind hesitantly thought of Lauren, but then, remembering how he had turned her, how he’d doomed her to immortality, he let his mind go blank.

 

And then George was pumping into him harder and faster but that new about that angle was setting something off inside him. A fizzing pleasure that was slowly growing, sparking off strings of white-hot energy that seemed to go straight to his cock. He felt himself hardening in his hand and he laughed aloud, squinting through his dark curls top spy the winking moon that was framed by the little window. Even the pain was gone now, he thought with wonder, the fur soft on is skin as George plunged inside him again. He felt his fangs lengthen in his gums, his eyesight sharpening as his eyes turned black and then the vampire was in control, all traces of human gone. The shame he’d felt, being used by his own best friend was gone- the vampire didn’t feel shame.

He pushed back on the werewolf’s cock, his fangs bared as he tossed a challenging look over his shoulder. Vampire and werewolf fought for a moment, the latter’s phallus yanking out of the vampire’s passage as they grappled. Both creatures were snarling, although the vampire was smiling, with sharp teeth and black eyes, loving the challenge, the thrill of the fight.

 

The werewolf won, rolling the vampire onto his back, all humanity lost from both the creatures’ eyes. The vampire grabbed fistfuls of fur  with curling fingers, his ankles relocating to settle themselves over the muscled, scarred shoulders of the werewolf and, with one thrust, as fangs bared and growls and snarls ripped through the air, the werewolf pounded into the vampire and they reached the peak.

Mitchell came to, his eyes now the normal murky brown and his seed a sticky pool on his stomach. The wolf was still inside him and now he remembered- wolves knot. The knot was swelling, sealing the semen inside him and Mitchell gasped at the size. He didn’t dare move, looking up into the unblinking, bloodshot eyes of the beats.

Waiting.

It was impossible to tell how long they lay there, but eventually, he feel the hardness inside him softening and he breathed a sigh of relief. As the wolf got to its feet clumsily, its now flaccid dick being dragged from Mitchell’s abused hole, he sagged, feeling the hard concrete beneath him.

The wolf sniffed him thoughtfully, then after circling him for a few seconds, slumped down beside him, laying its head on its paws and closing its eyes. Mitchell listened to its sleepy snuffling mingling in the air with his own shaky panting, and waited for day.


End file.
